Kronberg, Germany. When we try to dig deep, we often use etymology as a drill. And whatever we excavate creates a new background for what we see. Looking at architecture with this tool kit in mind can be very rewarding. For example, at the Villa Gans by Peter Behrens, a private villa in Kronberg, which I was lucky to visit rather spontaneously, a whole array of meanings of the word “wall” can be seen.
The villa is built against the backdrop of a forested hill, and composed in parallel spatial layers, which step down along with the sloping topography. On the lowest level, where the garden is wilder the retaining walls are built of rough quarry stones constructed in a dry masonry bond. This setting comes close to the etymological root of the word “wall” in English, which is in “a defensive fortification around a city”.
Closer to the house, the terraces hemmed a layer of finer hewn stones. And on the façade the natural stone cladding is yet more refined. Of course, the bond is also more sophisticated, almost woven, making the building’s enclosure look almost like a piece of cloth, a coat perhaps. The German word “Wand” comes to my mind. Many of the words that we have in German for making walls echo the making of textiles. From “Wand” (wall) to “Gewand” (cloth) is only a small step. Theories of cladding are even called “Bekleidungstheorie” (Semper).
Inside the house, another understanding of “walls” is visible. The inside surfaces of the living room are clad with a thin parchment of goat’s skin. Here then, architecture converges into being just another skin of ours.